The Disappearing Turkey

Written by Moe Zilla, Published on 11/24/2008

Mashed potatoes. Stuffing. Gravy. Pumpkin pie. We had all of the ingredients for a perfect Thanksgiving. Except, we were missing the main course — a turkey.

"I saw it flying high up in the sky," joked my little sister, Tina.

Earlier that morning, my father began preparing the turkey (before it had, according to Tina, jumped off the platter, walked out the front door and flown away). My father is a good cook (my mother, however, is a great cook). This year, my father was in charge of the turkey. Sure, we were all a bit worried about how our meal might turn out, but we felt reassured when my mother helped in the kitchen by fixing the stuffing and mashed potatoes.

Uncle Larry was excited about the dinner — but maybe a little too excited. He hovered over my father in the kitchen, "You should soak the turkey in salt water," he insisted. "It'll make the turkey taste better, and you won't have to add any salt later!"

“Don’t worry, Larry, I know what I’m doing … I think” my father replied, chuckling.

"I’m tellin’ you, salt water will make the turkey cook faster," Uncle Larry continued. "If you cook the turkey the slow way, you're likely to burn the house down!"

“Don’t worry, buddy, I won’t be burning anything today — the house, or the turkey for that matter,” he said, grinning. “I plan to monitor this bird when it’s in the oven, basting it every few minutes, and checking that its skin is more golden than your Florida tan!”

Mom stepped in, “Larry, the turkey would have to soak in the salt water for at least 12 hours to absorb enough salt,” and Uncle Larry, feeling defeated, agreed.

While Uncle Larry was overexcited about our dinner, there was one person who was indifferent this Thanksgiving: My older brother, Greg. He’d been away all year at college, and had come home for the weekend to visit us for Thanksgiving. Greg had wanted to watch his college's football team play in a big game. Unfortunately, Thanksgiving dinner would be ready right at 3:00 p.m., and that meant Greg would have to miss the end of the game.

To counteract Greg’s lack of interest, there was someone else who was eager about our turkey dinner — our dog, Darby. He smelled the raw turkey meat, wagged his tail, and attempted to jump on the counter for a closer look! But no one would want to eat the turkey if Darby had licked it or stolen a bite, so Tina and I grabbed Darby's collar and took him out for a walk. When we got back, we brought Darby to the backyard. We put Darby on his chain, and then went back inside the house to smell the turkey still cooking in the oven.

Greg was in the living room watching the beginning of the big football game. Uncle Larry was in there too, reminding Greg that he wouldn't get to see the end of the game. Suddenly my father realized he'd forgotten something — cranberry sauce for the turkey! He popped into the TV room to tell everyone that he was rushing off to the store. Tina and I went into the backyard to check on Darby.

It was only a few minutes later when we looked into the empty oven; the turkey had mysteriously vanished! There was a trail of juice that had dripped from the turkey, stopping halfway across the kitchen, right in front of the refrigerator. "It looks like someone mopped up the trail of juice to cover their tracks," Tina said.

"I bet Greg grabbed the turkey," I told Tina.

Tina squinted and curled her little lips, sneering. Sometimes our older brother would tease her, so Tina was always suspicious of him. "Maybe he hid the turkey so that dinner would have to start later. That way, he could watch his football game!" We went to talk to Greg, but he had — like the turkey — mysteriously disappeared.

"We won't be able to ask him any questions until we find him!" I said. "Let's keep looking for the turkey."

We looked in Greg's room, and mom and dad’s room, and even in the bathroom! We looked all around the house, and found nothing.

"There's someone else who wanted the turkey," I said. "Darby!”

Just then, we heard Uncle Larry walk into the living room. He was in a good mood, singing a song to himself.

"Uncle Larry sure seems happy," Tina said.

"I wonder if Uncle Larry stole the turkey?" I whispered to Tina.

"Maybe he stole the turkey to soak it in a tub of salt water!" she suggested.

We looked at each other, wondering if it could be true. But before we could finish our investigation, our father burst through the door. "Let the magic begin!" he said, holding up a big can of cranberry sauce. My mother kissed him as he came through the door. He seemed cheerful as he headed toward the kitchen.

We were surprised to see Greg coming back from the car. “When I told Greg we were out of cranberry sauce, he decided to come to the store with me.” My father put his arm around Greg and gave him a friendly squeeze, which made our brother smile and blush.

I was about to disrupt his happy mood, and reveal to my father that the turkey was missing — when Tina tugged at my shirt, and whispered up at me, "I know where the turkey is."

"What?" I said.

"I put all of the clues together — it didn’t fly away. I know exactly where it is, and who put it there.”